


Mother-of-Pearl and Opal Fire

by speccygeekgrrl



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Credence Barebone Deserves Better, Gentleness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Newt Scamander, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:54:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23222830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: Newt cries out, feeling more wounded by the loss of someone he could have helped than by the actual injuries he'd taken, watching scraps of darkness flutter and dissipate.One scrap doesn't dissipate. Heart in his throat, Newt collects it into his palm and cups it gently.Newt brings home something more dangerous and more precious than he's ever saved before. If there's one thing Hufflepuffs are good at, it's coziness and comfort, and that's exactly what Credence needs in the wake of the subway.
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Newt Scamander
Comments: 14
Kudos: 241





	Mother-of-Pearl and Opal Fire

**Author's Note:**

> I really did not mean to ship this, but uhhhhh it's everything I ever wanted and, well, here we are.
> 
> Credence deserves everything good in the world, and Newt _is_ everything good in the world.

Under the assault of nearly a dozen Aurors, the Obscurial bursts, wisps of black flying through the air like the most gruesome ticker-tape parade Newt could imagine. He cries out, feeling more wounded by the loss of someone he could have helped than by the actual injuries he'd taken, watching scraps of darkness flutter and dissipate.

One scrap doesn't dissipate. Heart in his throat, Newt collects it into his palm and cups it gently.

The first instant he can, he disappears into his case, terrified that the life caught in his loosely cupped fingers will melt into nothingness, but no: as soon as he lets go, that tiny piece of darkness grows, taking the shape of a terrified, hurt, betrayed boy curled on the floor with his hands over the back of his neck.

"Credence," Newt says, going to his knees and hovering his hands over that trembling body to see where the hurt was. "Oh, Credence, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry." There's no question about the fact that Credence is by far the most dangerous creature Newt has tried to save; there's also no question about the fact that Newt will do anything and everything in his power to save Credence, not only from his Obscurus, but from the wizarding world at large. Very carefully, Newt sets a hand on Credence's back and strokes up and down his spine, no different than he's done with any of the scared and injured things he's saved before. "You're safe here, I promise. I'll keep you safe."

"No one can keep me safe," Credence says in a voice that's more crack than sound. "I'm not safe."

"I can," Newt says firmly. "I can, and I will. I swear to you." 

Slowly, so slowly, Credence uncurls from his protective posture and glances up at Newt, who fights against the instinct to look away immediately, letting Credence read whatever he can in Newt's gaze. There's pain in his dark eyes, so much pain, and the barest spark of hope, a bone-deep desire to trust someone even though he's only just been betrayed so badly. Newt is relieved when Credence looks down; he was almost brought to tears by what he saw in those endless depths.

"I want to believe you," Credence whispers, and Newt smiles at him. 

"Let's get you off the floor, hm? Can't be comfortable." He helps Credence up and looks him over: pale skin marked with dirt, threadbare clothes gone tattered, shadows under his eyes, fear in his hunched posture. "Oh, you poor thing," Newt breathes, and when he touches his fingers to Credence's cheek it's not a surprise when he turns into Newt's touch with a choked-off gasp. "I've got some clothes that should fit you. Would you like to get cleaned up? Here, come this way..." He leads Credence through the small living area into the even smaller bathroom and waves his wand above the tub. "Aguamenti." Hot water pours out of it, and this time Credence doesn't stifle his gasp. "Touch that, is it too hot for you?"

"It's perfect," Credence says, and leaves his hand in the stream, fingers curled but spread. "I've... I don't know if I've ever had a hot bath before."

"Now's the perfect time for one, then," Newt says, and tosses a splash of soap into the tub so it starts to fill with bubbles. "Do you want me to mend your clothes, or...?"

"No," Credence says, and it's the most forceful word that's come out of his mouth yet. "No. Get rid of them. I don't ever want to put them back on." Whatever hesitance he has about baring himself before a stranger is overridden by his desire to rid himself of the trappings of the life he's just escaped; the jacket hits the floor, then the shirt, then the undershirt. Newt doesn't gasp when he sees the scars striped all over Credence's pale skin only because he's spent his whole career saving magical beasts from the worst kind of abuse, but his heart aches in his chest when Credence's fingers hesitate on his belt before taking it off and throwing it as hard as he can away from him. Newt turns his back to give Credence a moment's privacy and transfigures the belt into a soft washcloth with a wave of his wand.

"You can stay in here as long as you like," Newt says when he turns back to the tub to find Credence submerged to the chin with a rapturous look on his upturned face. "The water won't go cold."

"Don't leave me alone," Credence pleads, eyes opening wide.

Newt goes to his knees beside the tub, rolling up his sleeves before crossing his arms on the edge and propping his head against them. "Of course I won't," he says gently. "Would you like a hand washing up?"

"Please..."

There's endearments on the tip of Newt's tongue, all the silly soothing things he says to fearful beasts, but they don't feel quite right, they don't feel quite _enough_. "Close your eyes again," he says, and dips the washcloth into the water before stroking it over Credence's dirt-smudged cheek. The boy's all angles, sharp enough to cut himself on, but Newt's put his hand into mouths full of fangs without fear, and Credence's mouth is... something he shouldn't think about too hard, if he's being truthful with himself, but it's so hard _not_ to think about when Credence's plush lips part on a sigh of pleasure as Newt cleans the grime from his face. "You're marvelous," Newt murmurs, and rubs the washcloth just under those lips. "You don't realize yet, but you are very much a miracle."

"I'm not," Credence says, but he doesn't sound like he wants to argue. "I'm... I'm a monster..."

"You are nothing of the sort," Newt says firmly. "The only monstrous thing in the world is human beings, and it's only because of the things some of them choose to do. There's not a creature in the world that doesn't deserve to be understood and cared for and loved."

There's desperation in Credence's eyes when they open, a bottomless hunger for the things Newt has just named. "Is that what you do?" he whispers. 

"I try to," Newt says. He doesn't feel the need to mention that he's the only one in the world who tries to. "When you get out of the bath, I'll start introducing you around. Maybe you can help me care for them, when you're feeling better."

"I'm good at caring for things," Credence says. "It might be the only thing I'm good at."

"Then we'll get on like a house on fire," Newt says, and the warmth that washes through him at Credence's small, hopeful smile is better than the finest firewhiskey. Once Credence's face is clean, Newt runs a wet hand through his awkwardly shorn hair. "May I wash this for you?" The way Credence tips his head into Newt's hand is answer enough; Newt gives in to the overwhelming urge to pet him first, then reaches for the shampoo and gives him a proper scrubbing, nails scratching gently at his scalp, covering him with clove-scented lather and then carefully rinsing him off with another aguamenti spell. 

By the time Credence is ready to get out of the tub, there's no trace of the grime left on him. His pale skin glows like mother-of-pearl, scars pink like the fire at the heart of opals, and the word that rises to the forefront of Newt's mind as he wraps a towel around Credence is _precious_.

"Let's get you dressed," he says instead, and summons the most comfortable articles of clothing he owns with an accio: soft cotton pants in a shade of goldenrod that he'd acquired somewhere in Egypt, a plain linen undershirt that feels the nicest against skin, his Hufflepuff sweater that's been worn into softness over the years since he's left Hogwarts, a thick pair of socks that he'd knitted himself out of pale blue Puffskein wool. 

"I've never worn anything this colorful," Credence says as he dresses, and darts a glance up at Newt. "You dress so brightly. Like you don't care if people look at you."

"Let them look," Newt says. "I dress to please myself, not to please anyone else." He tugs gently at the hem of the sweater to settle it over Credence's hip, and adds, "You look good in color. More... alive."

"I feel more alive," Credence says, and Newt lights up, smile brightening when Credence returns it.

"Good, darling, that's exactly what I want for you. To feel alive. To feel like it's good to be alive."


End file.
